Whisper
by cadavrasskeleton
Summary: Waking from a coma, Hawke can't seem to get her bearings. She's surrounded by the attentive and the seemingly kind, but she can't remember who they are. She has forgotten. But the friendly and soothing Whisper in her mind tells her not to worry. She just needs to pretend and everything will be alright. The Whisper would protect her. As long as no one knew, things would be fine.
1. The Whisper

**A/N: I've been in a playing a lot of Dragon Age recently so I thought I'd try my hand at writing a story for it. Hopefully it turns out. It may end up as a slight cross over with Inquisition (or probably pre-Inquisition) since I've been playing a lot of that too. For now I'll just be sticking to Hawke and her merry band of misfits. Let me know what you think!**

* * *

When she woke, the world was green. At least, that was her first impression of it. The woman couldn't say if it had merely been an impression—like some kind of flickering memory—or if the world really had been green. It was all gone too fast to know for certain. Her eyes had blinked and the world was right again. She waited a few moments to see if the green would return to her again and was gratified to see that everything remained its proper color. Slowly—even tentatively—she let her thoughts branch out to take in more of her situation. There was pain, she thought almost dispassionately. Though the bed she was lying on was far softer than any she had known before, the comfort did not counteract the aching of an apparently badly bruised side. Slipping a hand under the far too elegant covers, she pressed into the pain with a gentle hand and hissed lightly. It seemed that her initial assumption had been correct. Pushing herself lightly to sit up—though she had to lean heavily on the headboard due to a confusing lack of strength—the woman blinked blankly at the room, a hand lifting to her temples but hesitating. Though shifting position had pulled at her side and caused the pain to flare up, it had also made her achingly aware of a headache she could not explain. It was not a normal, throbbing headache. Instead it was the sort of pain that felt as though her head was filled with restless flies. The noise was deafening. In a sudden movement that almost made her sick, the woman dropped her head into her hands and clutched at her scalp.

'_Hawke,'_ a voice whispered soothingly. _'Your name is Hawke.'_ Although all other sounds—particularly the chirping of the outside birds—made the woman want to scream and cry out in frustration, the silken voice did not. Rather, it seemed a blessed relief. She welcomed it.

"My name is…" she repeated softly aloud before she was hit with a flash of understanding. Yes, Hawke. Emilia Hawke. "I remember," she whispered back to the voice.

'_How much do you remember?'_ the Whisper asked. It was still silken and as welcome as a summer's cool breeze, though there seemed almost a slight catch in the tone. Was she imagining that? Given her current state it seemed probable that she was. The question confused her. She remembered her name. She remembered her family. She remembered Lothering. She remembered… nothing more. Hawke blinked.

'_You are in danger.'_ The Whisper returned before she had a chance to speak. She did not need to speak for it to hear her. That ought to have been alarming, Hawke noted, once again with surprising indifference. _'I will not harm you,' _it whispered, once again sensing her thoughts. There was no artifice in the voice, and in her weakened state that was enough for her. Perhaps she was too trusting. Perhaps it was simply a comfort to have something seem familiar in a world that seemed ever more confusing. The bed, the covers, even the room were all foreign to her. Something was wrong and, though she liked to think of herself as strong, Hawke had never been one to face things alone.

Her head slowly began to clear and she looked around the room properly. It was a fine lady's room. Of that there was no mistake. The only trouble: she was no fine lady. She was a refugee. Just another hopeless soul driven off by the blight. She had no business here. And where was her family? That desperate thought caused her to twist her head round quickly without giving a thought for the pain it would cause her. The action shook her headache loose and she found her eyes tearing up as the flies thundered in her brain. The thought of her family had almost left her but any consideration of the pain was put away as her blurry vision noticed the figure at the chair to her left. She begged her eyes to clear so she could see who it was. Was that… Mother? No… too tall. Perhaps Carver? The doubts filled her mind before the tears could leave her eyes. When the tears had drifted out enough that she could see, Hawke was filled with disappointment and confusion. The man in the chair was not even human. Hawke could not say exactly what breed of elf he was given the strange markings covering his skin and his snow white hair, but he was no one she had ever seen before. She would have remembered—if nothing else, she was certain of that.

Studying the strange elf, her brows furrowed. He had fallen asleep in his chair at an odd angle as though it had not been his intention to sleep at all and the frown that covered his face was deep. Somehow Hawke had the impression that he had this same expression a lot, sleep or wake. The armor he wore was obviously that of a warrior, but he was no Templar. Not that they would accept an elf Templar anyway. At the very least it meant she was not in the Circle, though Hawke doubted very much that the accommodations in the Circle were this nice; anywhere but in a Tevinter Circle, that is. Regardless he was intimidating and Hawke was left with the feeling of captivity. She did not like it. Had she been in better shape she would have given thought to escape. As it was, she simply continued her evaluation. There was a book hanging from his dangling hand and his other had fallen into his lap. Curiously—and after glancing quickly to check that he was not about to wake—Hawke leaned slightly over to glance at the title of the book. Her lips quirked as she recognized it. It was an old story she had used to read to the twins to put them to bed. It had been a gift from her father, or so her mother had said. Still, as she sat back Hawke had to bite down on her lip to hold back a laugh. The mere idea of this warrior, with such a fierce and brooding aura even while sleeping, reading a children's fairy tale was enough to make her want to burst in to a cascade of laughter. Sensible of her situation and her side, she controlled herself. But she did allow herself a secret smile. What was the harm? He was sleeping. With a careful—though slightly shaking—hand, Hawke reached out to touch the markings that still intrigued her. Before she wouldn't have dared, but her head had cleared enough to be bold.

'_What are you doing?'_ Hawke had almost forgotten about the Whisper until it joined her again. Her hand jolted back guiltily on instinct though she wasn't sure what she had to be guilty for. The voice had seemed a little sharper than before but, when it spoke again, the softness and caring was back. Hawke relaxed. _'Be mindful. There are enemies everywhere,'_ it whispered words that she already knew. Those words had been the ones she had lived by for most of her life. Such was the life of a mage. Perhaps this voice seemed so familiar because it was a part of her. Was that why she had never questioned its origin or purpose? Because she had created it?

The Whisper remained silent on this point. Hawke took that as an affirmative answer. She turned to look back at the elf, but the Whisper interrupted her.

'_Sleep!'_ the whisper urged. Hawke hesitated. When she heard the slight jangle of the doorknob, her hesitation ended. There was still no explanation for what she was doing here or why she was being guarded and Hawke could think of no good that could come of it. Perhaps she had been injured and someone took her in? As her body slid stiffly but swiftly back under the covers, Hawke scoffed at that thought. That elf was no nurse. She didn't have to be certain of much to be certain of that.

The door opened just as she settled in and closed her eyes. There was a slight pause as though whoever entered might have noticed her movement, but Hawke was gratified to hear the steps continue. Listening carefully, she noticed them going to the left side of the bed: the side with the elf. There was a light noise that Hawke couldn't quite make out and then the distinctive sound of something dropping to the floor (the book perhaps) and a sword coming unsheathed. It took a near impossible amount of willpower not to open her eyes. As it was, Hawke still couldn't resist the urge to open them a crack. If she was going to die, it would be with her eyes open and facing her death. But the sword was not pointed at her. The elf—now fully awake and just as intimidating as he had seemed before—had it pointed at a dwarf who had just come in. Hawke felt concern on the dwarf's behalf, especially since the dwarf himself did not seem to be the slightest bit daunted. He put his hands up in a mocking gesture of surrender. When the elf put his sword down, Hawke forced herself to close her eyes, hoping she had not been noticed during that exchange. A slight frown tugged at her lips. She was confused.

'_Take heed.'_ The Whisper hardly needed to tell her this, Hawke thought. She had few options other than listening. And her curiosity was not a thing easily sated. Careful not to draw attention to herself, she listened. A strand of hair had drifted across her face as she'd dived back into bed and it lightly tickled at her nose. She tried to breathe a little harder to displace it. She didn't dare move more than that.

"You ought to be more careful with that thing," said the first voice jovially. "You almost scratched Bianca!" The second part sounded more serious, though not by much. There was a long, weary sigh and the sound of someone sitting heavily into a chair. Probably the elf.

"I… I did not know it was you. I apologize," the second voice spoke in a quiet and slightly stilted way as though each word was chosen with slow deliberation. "I… have not been myself of late." There was a pause. Hawke found herself desperately wishing she could open her eyes again, but she had a terrifying suspicion that both of her companions were looking at her. That thought only made her more conscious of the terrible tickling of her nose. She would not move it. She would not move it. She would not.

"Let me see… brooding, sulking and taciturn," the first voice spoke up. "No, you're right, that doesn't sound like you at all." The laugh that came from the first speaker was half-hearted but obviously an attempt to cheer the other up. The other made a noise that was closer to a huff than a laugh, but it was not angry as Hawke expected it to be. The pause was longer this time. Hawke found herself wondering if these two always took such long breaks in their conversations or if there was something else going on out there that she wasn't aware of simply because she was forced to keep her eyes shut.

"I think I know what you need," the first speaker picked up again, cheerful as ever. "A few rounds of drinks and Wicked Grace. Isabela's buying. Well, after she takes all of Anders' silver. So I suppose Anders is really buying." Hawke was having trouble keeping stock of all of these names. And she had noticed with frustration that neither of the speakers had bothered to identify themselves or each other. She wanted to sigh. She didn't need the Whisper in her mind to tell her that it was a bad idea, but it was there anyway.

"No." The refusal was flat and blunt and Hawke felt sure now that the second voice belonged to the elf. Mentally she urged the dwarf to keep trying; to do whatever it took to get the elf to leave, if only long enough for her to get her bearings. Or, at least, long enough for her to scratch her nose. If they were willing to leave her alone, perhaps she was not a prisoner? Though she could not imagine what else she would be. Who in this world would stick his neck out to support an apostate? Hawke was no pessimist, but she knew enough of the world to know that she would not be treated with a lavish room and comfortable bed if her true nature was known. And if they had her… what about Bethany? The memory of her family came back like a bolt of lightning and she felt a sudden and irresponsible urge to direct some questions at the elf and the dwarf.

'_Hold,'_ the Whisper demanded. It was still gentle and soft, but there was steel in the tone that forced Hawke to realize the foolishness of that idea. Much as she wished to, she did not move.

"Aveline is coming…" the dwarf tried again as though hearing her unspoken pleas. Hawke had no idea who Aveline was, but if it was a way to give her some time alone to figure things out, she welcomed that person.

"No." The elf's word was turning colder each time he uttered it.

"Just for an hour," bargained the dwarf. Yes, Hawke thought, listen to him. An hour wasn't a lot of time, but it was enough. She would have to be efficient. If nothing else she knew it would give her a chance to scratch her nose and take a good look out the window and both of those things would have been very helpful. Plotting away, she almost missed the dwarf's next exclamation since it came after yet another pause. "Maker's beard, Fenris, this room is killing you." Even with her eyes closed, Hawke knew that the silence following these words was weighted. She waited silent and still for the telltale swish that would come from the blade being drawn. She heard nothing, save for another long sigh.

"When Aveline arrives," the elf finally responded, "I shall… think on it." Hawke found herself equal parts baffled and frustrated. She was baffled that the elf—Fenris apparently—would give in so easily, but then she could not pretend to even begin to understand him. The frustration came from the understanding that she would not get her chance to look around or to get rid of this wretched hair. Hawke swore to herself that the first chance she got she would shave off her hair. Nothing was worth this torture.

"I will not leave her alone," Fenris said quietly. Had Hawke had the opportunity to move and make noise, she would have gasped. Instead, she was forced to hold it back and wonder at the meaning of those words. Where was she? What was she? And, most importantly, who were these men who seemed to—dare she think it—actually care for her?

The door closed with a soft click, signaling the exit of the dwarf. Hawke was left to ponder everything she heard. She did not get much chance at that, however, as she suddenly felt careful hands tugging lightly at her covers to straighten where she had left them lightly mussed. A hand drifted gently across her face and moved away the hair that had been her torture those last several minutes. Was this… friendship? Had she misjudged everything that had happened? As impossible as it seemed, she did not feel in danger. In fact, Hawke could not remember ever feeling this safe. The hand pulled back slowly and she heard him reach down for the book he'd dropped. With nothing else to do, she listened to him turn the pages—far more slowly than one normally would, she noted. It was a lulling sound and Hawke found herself—despite having evidence that she had rested quite a lot recently—feeling unusually tired. Surrounded by the sounds of his breathing and the occasional page turns, Hawke lost herself to sleep.

'_I am a friend,' _came the Whisper as Hawke was drifting off. She smiled. Hawke wanted to believe it. No, Hawke _did_ believe it. _'I am your _only_ friend.'_


	2. Who?

When Hawke's mind drifted slowly back into consciousness, it was much clearer than it had been before. Her side still hurt, but that was to be expected. Though she hadn't had the chance to properly inspect it, she'd had enough bad scrapes and bruises to know that this one had been bad, but not bad enough that it would not heal. And, in the worst case scenario, she could always use her magic to speed the healing process along. But that would have to wait until she knew where she was. Hawke was hardly reckless enough to start casting magic without checking her surroundings thoroughly. She wasn't going to be the fool apostate that got herself shipped off to the Circle for using magic in the middle of the Chantry or some such place. That just left the question of where she was exactly. This time she knew better than to open her eyes upon waking and instead continued to feign sleep. Her body ached to move but she made no motion that would give herself away.

Is it safe? She asked that question a thousand times in her mind, waiting for the Whisper to return to her with an answer. Silence was all that answered back. Hawke wondered if that Whisper had just been a figment of her imagination; some fevered dream called on to make the strange room somewhat less unnerving. There was still a nagging feeling that made her want to believe that the Whisper was real. Hawke didn't know why she needed that, but the thought of being alone weighed heavy on her mind. She could handle any number of things, but she didn't know that she would ever be much good at being alone. Maybe now she would have to learn. The thought didn't sit well with her. What she really needed to do now was to find her mother and siblings. She didn't need someone to take care of her, she could take care of herself; she needed someone to take care of.

The Whisper still had not responded. Whether it was real or not, it seemed to know no more about what lay outside her eyelids than she herself. All she knew was that the room was dark but that could have been the work of the dark or of curtains. And she knew that it was warm, uncomfortably so. Is it safe? She asked one more time. Once again she was received with nothing but silence. It seemed that there was nothing to do but to see for herself. For a moment, Hawke considered opening her eyes daringly to face whatever was before her, but she did not trust her physical condition enough to do that. She was in no state to preform enough magic to protect herself, especially in an unknown location. And she liked to think she was craftier than that.

After a minute of deliberating and working up the nerve—which grew easier the warmer it got—Hawke finally decided to try. It was in no way a foolproof plan or even much of a plan in general, but she hoped that it would at least tell her something. Taking in a deeper than normal breath, Hawke shifted obviously in the bed, keeping her eyes closed. She schooled her breathing patterns back to mimic sleeping ones and waited, her heart thumping wildly in her chest and possibly making the whole plan moot. Still, she listened, and she heard nothing. That was it, she told herself. It was now or never. Still she did not move. Another moment of listening, she told herself. Just one. And then another. One more. Finally, feeling the sweat on her legs tangling uncomfortably in the sheets and her body craving to stretch, Hawke gave in. Her eyes popped open, looking up at the same bed canopy she had before. It was not green.

Figuring that it was too late to turn back now whatever happened, and not hearing a single sound—she would have expected some kind of gasp or alarm—Hawke smiled to herself. It was safe. Pushing herself up with her palms was less painful this time and she sat upright in the bed, only pausing to rub her side slightly. She was looking straight ahead at the door. As confident as she was in her security, she did not want to turn her head. Hawke berated herself as a fool for that hesitation. For all she knew he was sleeping again. If he was here at all. Looking down at her knees covered by the blanket, Hawke closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. And then, finally, she looked. She hadn't noticed before that his eyes were green.

How he had maintained that perfect silence, Hawke couldn't say. She must have waited what felt like twenty minutes but must have been at least five. And yet he had not gasped or called out or so much as said a word to her. His eyes were wide; they were disbelieving. Hers probably looked the same. He was not frowning at her, she noticed then. He hadn't been frowning since she'd looked over at him. All she had seen was a face awash with surprise. It made her nervous. If he had been frowning, she would have at least had some kind of certainty about her situation. His expression was open and revealing, and yet she couldn't make anything from it.

"Fen…ris?" she asked, her croaked voice making it sound more broken than it would have normally. She could still remember his name from before and Hawke could think of no other way to break his trance. To her astonishment, the elf smiled. The expression was lost to her as he swiftly turned out of his seat and moved to the wall. Hawke's expression melted from shock to confusion. With his back to her, she could see nothing of what he was doing. Though she had felt comfort from this man before, now she just felt wary. She remembered the sight of his great sword and she knew full well that she was in no state to fight him off, especially without a staff. And that was when she began to wonder where her staff was. Clearly it would have marked her as a mage immediately. And there was little compassion in the world for mages. Perhaps it had been lost before she'd been found. Or it was possible that this was all a trick. Some new Templar game. Did she believe that? Not really. Maybe they'd run all the way to Tevinter. Though the stories around the Imperium didn't line up with the treatment she'd been given. And did they have dwarves in Tevinter? She wasn't so sure about that.

"Drink," the quiet baritone voice commanded. Hawke shook herself from her musings to find a glass of water under her nose and the elf bent in front of her, his expression had slipped back into the much less confusing frown. Yet, looking into his eyes, Hawke faltered. She had seen plenty of hate and cruelty from people before, but his eyes were—though not soft—not threatening. For a moment she wondered if his word had been a commandment at all. His gaze flashed down to the glass before meeting her gaze again. He seemed at a loss. Sensing it was safest to take the offered drink, she did, wrapping her hands around the cool glass. The liquid in it looked inviting and Hawke wanted nothing more to drink, but she had no guarantee that the clear liquid inside was really water. If she had known where she was or where her family was or even if she knew that she had an escape route, Hawke would never have hesitated. It was the pressing uncertainty that kept her hesitating. It was almost as if she made one wrong move and she would never get to see her family again. She wasn't sure where that idea came from, but it was a chilling one. The elf's gaze was growing harder.

"Drink," he repeated, this time clearly a command. She took a little, pretend sip to pacify him. It seemed to work. He nodded and cast his gaze to the door before looking back at her. There was no saying what he was deliberating, but it seemed that one thought had won over and he straightened up. "I shall return," he told her, taking a step towards the door before pausing and looking back at her. "Wait for me," he said, though it was almost as if he was asking it of her. Unable to think of a proper reply, she just nodded. For a moment, Hawke almost thought that he would smile again. But then he was gone, out of the door and—from the sound of it—running down the hall. She raised her eyebrows at the place where he had been.

Now was the time for answers. Hawke placed the full glass down on the nightstand and pushed her way out of bed slowly. The blanket half slid off the bed with her, but she could not bring herself to care. Walking would be a chore with the pain in her side, but her head was clear enough that maybe she could think her way out of here. Shuffling stiffly to the window, Hawke tried to push it open. It was no use. But she could still peer outside it. The houses around this one all seemed equally large and impressive as she was assuming this one was. Certainly not the sort of places owned by elves. Maybe the dwarf was the owner. Or perhaps one of the others. She remembered that an Isabela had been mentioned. And a Bianca. It could be owned by one of them. Hawke supposed that she would find out in due time. It wasn't as if she had anywhere else to go. She did not recognize the street and she remembered enough of the blight to know that Lothering was long gone. How long gone? Hawke couldn't say. They could have been on the run for a few weeks or even a few years. She wasn't sure which was the more comforting thought. A few weeks would have never put them far enough away from the darkspawn or given them enough coin or standing to get her into this room without some very harrowing sacrifices having to be made. But the thought of having forgotten years… Hawke didn't know if she could find it in herself to be okay with that thought.

This time her thoughts were interrupted with more warning as the sounds of heavy running feet—booted clearly and not those of Fenris—came racing up stairs and growing closer ever second. She turned in time to see another man standing in the doorway, the feathers of his armor ruffled and matted and dark circles under his eyes. The eyes that Hawke watched look towards the bed and then follow the trail of blankets towards where she stood, her hands clutching tightly to the windowsill as she pressed her body back into it. Like Fenris, the man looked at her with astonishment as though the sight of her was the most surprising—and perhaps wonderful?—thing that could been seen. When he took a step towards her, Hawke tried to press back harder to the window without it being noticeable.

Hawke forced a smile. She had always found smiling to be a good way to get out of complex situations. It didn't matter on the situation. When being threatened, smiles were a show of strength and could put opponents off their guard. When making deals it was always easier to distract with a smile while lying and stealing your way to a better price. And so, still not sure what this situation was, she smiled. Even in hindsight she couldn't say if that was a bad move or not.

The hug had taken her off guard. It was sudden and desperate and Hawke had no idea what to do with her hands as he clung to her tightly. She supposed that she ought to be hugging him back… whoever he was. Before she had a chance, however, a strong hand appeared on the human's shoulders and Hawke found herself free again. She looked around in confusion before her eyes lighted on Fenris who was glowering fiercely at the other man.

"She is not well," Fenris stated, his eyes shifting to look at her with a mild disapproval. Hawke didn't even know what she had done. It wasn't as if she had initiated the hug. For a fleeting moment she wondered if he was jealous and took stock of the two men standing together. That would be an investigation that would have to wait, however. The hand disappeared off of the man's shoulders and they were both looking at her. Hawke was never one to mind being put on the spot, but without her memories she felt as though she was asked to fight a dragon without her staff. Or any clothing. As they continued staring, she looked down at herself in confusion.

"What? Did I spill something on myself?" she asked at last, making a show of looking. She had no idea of they would appreciate her glib tongue. Judging from the reactions she had gotten from them, it was a risk she was willing to take. They were still staring at her. Hawke shrugged. "Anyone ever tell you that you guys are pretty strange?" she asked. After a hug, Hawke felt safe enough that she wasn't about to be attacked. It didn't mean that she trusted either of them, but they'd given her no reason not to. Yet. The man who had hugged her actually laughed.

"Two weeks out and the first thing she does when she wakes up is start making jokes." He was laughing as he said this.

"Hopefully they'll get better when the head trauma goes away," came the jovial voice of the dwarf from the door. "Or else she'll be as bad as Broody." Hawke had turned her head quickly towards the door, an action that caused her head to spin a little. With one hand gripping the windowsill for support, she lifted her freehand to her head. She had noticed Fenris glare at the smug looking dwarf, but the dwarf—like the others had been before—seemed focused on her.

"What's wrong? Your head? Sit down, Hawke." The human had gone into a flurry of activity once she'd shown signs of her discomfort and she'd allowed herself to be pushed gently back to sit on the bed. She had flinched when his hands had started combing through her hair, ignoring his stream of 'I'm sorry's and 'does it hurt?'. He was only apologizing for hurting her, she noticed, and that was not why she had flinched. To be honest, Hawke couldn't say why she had flinched. There had not been one sign that she was in any kind of danger. In fact these people all seemed much more attentive than they would if she had been even a stranger, let alone an enemy. And they knew her name. At first it had slid right past her, but she rewound his words in her head as she tried to make sense of it all. And, though very little made sense, it did not seem dangerous.

'_You are in danger,'_ the Whisper contradicted, returning when Hawke had long forgotten about it. She felt a little irked that it had not been there before at any time, especially when she was specifically asking it for help. But the soothing Whisper was hard to dislike and Hawke found herself forgiving it. What kind of danger could she possibly be in? The elf was dangerous, she could tell that instantly, but the human seemed about as threatening as a kitten. She had yet to make up her mind about the dwarf. His smiles and jokes made him hard to fear, but Hawke could swear that the thing slung across his back was a crossbow. And with a crossbow like that, he had to know how to use it.

'_Your memories,' _came the whisper. _'They were stolen. They were stolen on the night you died.' _Hawke gasped. She could hear another long string of apologies coming from the man who was still checking he head, but Hawke couldn't have found it in herself to care less. She paid no attention to what the others were doing, instead closing her eyes and devoting everything she had to listening. There had to be an explanation for this. After all, she wasn't dead. _'You were brought back, I do not know how.'_ Hawke's eyes open and she stared fixedly at the wall in front of her and ignored the chatter around her. She just needed to know one thing, even if she doubted how much it would help her right then.

"Who?" she whispered to herself, feeling the need to say the word aloud.

"Aveline. You know, the human battering ram? The woman who can run six miles carrying a cow over her head." The dwarf's tone was light as Hawke was already expecting was the norm. Hopefully her soft grunt counted as a response. She hadn't heard a thing he'd said before, her thoughts all focused on the real answer she wanted.

'_I do not know,' _the Whisper told her, tone laced with regret and sympathy that made any misgivings about it flutter away. _'Someone you trusted. Someone that may not look kindly on the fact you live.' _Hawke's eyes raised from their fixed spot on the wall and straight into the green eyes of Fenris. They were unreadable. She then shifted her gaze to the cheery dwarf, but Hawke knew better than most how many things could be hidden behind a smile. Lastly her eyes slid sideways to look at the man still fussing over her health. She did not know these men. And, though it might be more comforting, it was hard to assume their friendship with the knowledge that she'd just gained. Maybe the Whisper was right. Maybe she really did have just one friend.

'_Be careful, Hawke. Now more than ever before, you are in danger.'_


End file.
